This is the Hardest Part of Leaving You
by Kali15ondA
Summary: Arthur and Alfred, star-crossed lovers, find a little girl in the middle of the woods; dubbed Abigail Jones, the two have the joy of rasing this demading child. But as Alfred revolts against his lover for freedom, what will happen to Abigail? What trauma lies ahead for this family? Read to find out!
1. Chapter 1

This is the Hardest Part of Leaving You

Chapter One: Little Boston?

The wind created goosebumps on Arthur Kirkland's bare arms, he would usually adorn long sleeves or a jacket, but he left it at his small abode. The talk grass swayed slightly from the wind that grazed it as he walked with his lover. Arthur gripped the slightly larger hand with his own, chagrin racing over him as he realized that his hands were sweaty. Alfred didn't mind, but the Englishman was fretting inside of his head. Although he enjoyed the moments he got to spend with the loud-mouthed man; as countries, they never spent much time together.  
Cries of pain and whimpers echoed from behind the trees. The couple's attentions were fixated on the voice, and it seemed of one of a small child. Their fingers unlocked, and the thick-browed blond ran towards the crying sounds, eventually seeing a small girl with dark brown hair crying. A scrape was adorned by her leg, some blood, and it ranged from her knee to her ankle. His breath hitched in his throat as pools of green gazed into his own; the sadness in those eyes made his heart beg for mercy.  
As his heart cracked into weeping pieces, she sniffled softly. Her cries faltered and halted to a stop, the brunette child managed to voice a hello with a bulge of tears hitched in her throat.  
Arthur shook his head to get his mind back on track, and smiled softly at the girl, "You're going to be okay poppet, I'll clean that scrape up for you. What do you say?"  
Her head shook softly, her eyes and face red from crying. And for the third time his heart like another Nation, but didn't feel like a full-fledged country.  
His thoughts were interrupted as his lover made his presence, loud-voiced, but as he laid eyes on the little green-eyed girl, his voice stopped. With two tall people around her, she started to cry. Arthur bent down and scooped the child in his strong arms; as she cried he rocked the brunette gently.  
Alfred took a step closer to the two and spoke "Little girl, could you tell me your name?" She may be a country, but it seemed unlikely, even though there was something about her that both adults were sensing.  
She sniffed and then spoke "M-My name is Boston..."  
Both blond men stopped in their tracks of thought as they heard the words of the city that was shared between the both of them. Leaves rustled quietly in the background as the silence rang loudly in their ears, only for a few moments until the girl spoke once more, now stifling out a question towards them.  
"Who are you?" she almost demanded, looking up towards the Englishman that had her in his arms. If he had not seen the little city crying before, he'd think she was a bit of a brat. But as seeing her in a weakened state, and then being taken down by words from the girl's mouth, he realized that she was a strong little one. Little Boston had forgot about the large scrape that her knee now bore, and started to interrogate; this is my kind of child, he thought.  
His lover had answered him without his own knowledge, most likely in Arthur's long train of thought. It had probably been longer that he realized, staring into glazed green eyes, weakened from crying, but strong from courage.  
"Should we name her, Artie?" spoke an unusually-soft voice coming from Alfred, trying to be soothing to not upset the child that sat upright in the arms of 'Artie', a name that had been fashioned over the years. Arthur always tried to steer his mate to not speak in a demeaning manner to him, but the matter and principle never sunk in to the large-brainless head of America's. After a few years of being called that wretched nickname, loss had sunken in, and he knew he'd never win, so England surrendered under that name.  
There was not much to ponder, should he name the little city -rather than a nation, but still important- a fitting title, or not? Of course he would name her, and he had in mind for raising this little girl that fit some perfectly in his arms, spreading warmth to his chest as she cuddled closer.  
The couple looked at one another, and at once, simultaneously said…_similar _names.  
"Abigail Kirkland."  
"Abigail Jones."  
Oh, were they at a standpoint, and the two fought for about fifteen minutes before the louder one got his was as the girl spoke in a definite tone, "I like Abigail Jones better."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry the last chapter was so short; I didn't think it was that bad, I guess it was good for a prologue. So, just enjoy this chapter, and if you liked it, or have suggestions, leave a review!

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This is The Hardest Part of Leaving You  
Chapter Two: Children (Alfred) aren't as docile as they should be

"All right! You're all patched up little poppet, now go on, Father is waiting for you outside!" England beamed as he put the magic wand and gauze away into his magic-bag. He was pepped up for a reason that felt unknown to him; it may be just the exhilaration of being a _parent_. Or maybe it was that Alfred would be out for the whole day, giving him time to relax and drink his tea in peace and quiet. Being around the brazen-spoken loud man for most of the time took a toll, but it was worth it, seeing how much Arthur loved that fool.

He girl hopped down from the improvised medical table and landed swiftly on her feet, saluting her _Papa _as she ran down the stairs and went out the door. Arthur let out a soft sigh as he softly planted himself on an exquisite armchair, tea in hand. With one sip of tea, he heard the odd sound of silence, not one this country had heard often, or at all.

Alfred scooped up the small girl and placed her on his shoulders. He held her ankles gently as she settled, making sure not to let little Abigail fall "So you two are my parents now?"

Her question made the man's face heat up softly as he started to walk down the cobblestone path; as he had never really thought about him and Arthur being…_parents_. But he knew they were her parents, and forever will be, their little Abigail. Even if they had just found her in the woods at what seemed minutes ago. As he walked down this path, he never really contemplated where he was going until…

"Father, watch out!" Abigail half-hollered and he stopped short in front of a lamppost, Alfred let out a nervous chuckle. Maybe he needed to go to _father class_…or something. He kept going, avoiding the unprecedented lamppost, and thinking about a nice spot where he could bond with the brunette. It was a spot by the harbor, in a small grassy area that included a swing and a table. Since she would be accompanying the Brit, he thought tea this early would help her get used to it. Tea was an acquired taste, even for himself, he still did not really enjoy it.

"You and Papa are counties, aren't you? And I'm just a city?" she voiced in a soft tone, one that Alfred had not heard just yet, but it was an adorable little tone that rang in his ears. Before he had time to speak, a familiar soft-spoken voice, rather one that was hers, and more alike to his brother's; which was completely true. A little Matthew stood just a tiny bit shorter than himself, with a striking resemblance to his brother.

"W-Who's th-that Alfred?" Matthew asked as he looked towards the nation and the city in question upon his shoulders.

"Oh! It's my _daughter_, Abigail!" Alfred hollered bluntly, taking the large country aback. Did his loud-mouthed , irresponsible, reckless brother say he had a_ daughter_? He was only visiting his brother's country to catch up a little bit, and ask him to be a little less of a jerk towards some of his high-class soldiers. Alfred had been taking trips to see Matthew, and was openly rude towards his men, Matthew, being out of the room, was blamed for the behavior of his lookalike. This statement of that _fool_ having a daughter made him growl inside, Alfred was _barely_ able to take care of _himself_.

But, of course, he was not able to speak his thoughts due to an image that _airhead _angry at his brother. He had never seen the younger nation angry essentially, even when he was angry, it was never violent angry, but maybe a statement like one he thought up would be enough to make a record.

As Canada steamed inside, the girl reached out a hand to shake the blond's own hand, but then had to fix her glasses. He didn't really notice her gesture until America coughed out _subtly _"Pay attention Max."

Not once had his brother remembered his name, his rage went into full homicide mode, but he shook Abigail's hand and smiled politely aside from the thoughts of killing Alfred. She giggled, which made his rage go flat as if on a heart meter, she was cute, the nation could admit.

"Well Marco, I gotta'go, I'm going to get some tea with Abigail. She'd be better off if she got used to it early, I still can't enjoy it, but as long as she's living with Arthur, she'll be drinking tea forever! See ya' later Martin!" Alfred hollered as he walked away with an informal salute.

It left Matthew to his foggy-glasses and steaming ears full of anger and resentment. _Oh_ how he hated his brother America.

"…To answer your question Abigail, yes I am a Nation and so is Papa. I am America, a large, totally awesome country! Arthur's country is more…quiet and reserved, though he can put up a pretty good fight if he wants to…" America paused and muttered "…usually yelling at me when I disrupt_ quiet-time_…"

_[A/N… and muttered "…England looks dead sexy in a miniskirt."]_

Abigail didn't really catch the last bit of his sentence, but decided not to ask, she wondered what her parents are like, and she didn't really know them much. But seeing that they were nice people, she felt at ease know that countries found her, it was probably destined. Even if the girl didn't believe in miracles or unknown forces, this was surely a miracle.

Alfred searched the surroundings, since he really hadn't been on track with the outside world, a bit in his own reality. He was on Frog lane and a bit past the tea shop he was hoping to find; tall buildings enshrouded him as he turned back on the street, only a short walk towards _Thomas's Tea_, a shop that Alfred and his partner went to when Arthur ran out of tea to make, which was highly rare, though it did happen.

After a bit of searching and panic, he found the tea shop "I'd like two Lady Grey teas please," he paused and smiled "Hey, that last bit rhymed!"

"Please Tea, Tea Please, hehe Please T-" he chuckled to himself as the man at the counter spoke "Milk or Lemon?"

"Milk."

"Sugar? One lump or two?

"Two."

Abigail sat on her father's shoulders as he muttered 'Please' and 'Tea' back and forth to himself. Was he a fool? He might be, but more goofy that foolish; like a small child. Not like his daughter although, he was more childish than the young, little Boston with circle-shaped glasses. Alfred paid for the tea and brought the two mugs over to the desired table near the dock.

The brisk wind was enough to make Abigail shiver as she climbed down on to her Father's lap, getting settled and using him as a couch. Alfred let out a soft chuckle at the sheer adorableness of the brunette, and set the tea down.

"One thing about tea, it is _hot_, so a good idea is to blow on it first so it doesn't burn your mouth or throat. Your Papa is used to burning hot tea, but he's a pure Brit so it doesn't matter. I feel it's better when it's a tiny bit cooled-off. Another thing is that it's not expected to be sweet and tasty like chocolate, it has a…" he paused "…a vivid taste with plants in it. It is literally boiled leaves."

She nodded and sat up straighter, pushing breath on to the tea to dim the heat down, gladly the wind was doing so as well. He helped her hold the cup as she tried to pick it up, holding the entire cup rather than the handle, almost burning her hands. Luckily '_super awesome dad_' was there to the rescue, holding the cup with his gloved hand and bringing hers to the handle.

Regretfully, as he helped her, he had his hand on the mug; even if he had gloves, they sure were not good ones. He let out a soft squeak as his hand recoiled, the leather that his gloves were made of were burning. Alfred took a large gulp and smiled weakly, and looked down at her drinking the tea so easily. She surely was the daughter of Arthur, and the city of Boston; it was filled with heavy tea drinkers, the obsession with tea escaped Alfred. He never understood the reason it was so popular, but for meetings it was not unusual that tea was the main drink, most of the time the only drink available.

The blond took a small sip of his own tea, as the girl carefully put her tea down, as her father did the same.

…

"Sitting down with a good book is always—"

"We're back!"

_It seems like two children are on my hands now._


End file.
